


It Howls Inside

by project_icarus



Series: Become the Beast [2]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Mating Rituals, POV Dante (Devil May Cry), POV Third Person Limited, Porn With Plot, Possessive Dante (Devil May Cry), Sex Magic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_icarus/pseuds/project_icarus
Summary: Dante and Bambi are blood-bound in unholy matrimony, but will that pull them closer together or further apart?Sequel to Hunger.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: Become the Beast [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807291
Comments: 14
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

When Dante wakes up on this muggy summer morning, he’s burdened with the biggest, most throbbing hard-on he’s ever had in his life. He groans into his pillow and rolls his hips into the mattress, eyes shut tight as he clings to the ghostly tendrils of a dream that was so vivid a moment ago. If he could just block out the obnoxious drone of the city outside, he would remember…

Yes, it was a dream of a woman with big doe-eyes, beautiful and dark with desire, looking up at him as he—

“Fuck.” A shudder wracks him, and the sudden pulses of white-hot pleasure throw him for a massive loop. He rides it out, shivering and over-sensitive, a startled moan on his lips. Seconds later, he stills, sweaty and unpleasantly sticky between the cheap cotton sheets.

He comes down, panting, and tries to get his wits about him. What the hell just happened? He hasn’t come because of a naughty dream since… ever, and never so explosively and from so little contact. Disorientated and still sleepy, he lies there in his own mess, trying to process the dream even as it slips away from him again. Something hot enough to get him that riled up deserves attention.

There was tight, wet heat. And eyes. Bambi’s eyes. Of course.

He hasn’t seen her in nearly a month, but she’s been on his mind. His devil blood yearns for her in a way he doesn’t understand, and being apart from her is sometimes an almost tangible ache, placated only by the fervent distraction that killing demons provides.

If he can’t even escape to dreamland in peace anymore, he needs to up his game and annul their accidental unholy matrimony, fast.

But, one foot in front of the other foot, as they say. Before he can solve that problem, he needs to conquer the dreaded demon that is laundry. A shower wouldn’t go amiss, either.

By the time afternoon rolls around, Dante’s brain is leaking out of his ears. He’s sitting at his desk, freshly showered, the rickety old washing machine rattling away in the other room, and he’s poring over what must be the tenth ancient text he’s dug up that relates to demonic marriage. Like the other nine before it, this dusty tome only mentions the bonding ritual in passing, and he’s not entirely sure it’s the bondage he’s looking for.

For over three weeks of progress? Not good.

He chucks the book behind him, where it lands with a thud, its delicate purple leather binding no doubt splitting into a thousand dehydrated pieces. If he has to struggle through one more of these esoteric books, he'll fall on his sword—not that it would kill him, but it would be a pleasant distraction for a few minutes. He’s reaching the limits of what he can accomplish alone; his particular brand of problem-solving involves far less research and far more sword swinging, nine times out of ten. Maybe it’s time to bring in an expert?

No. Not yet. He still has things under control, and if he can solve this privately, it’ll save everyone involved a lot of heartache and embarrassment. Not that _he’s_ bothered by all of this. No, sir. He’s just fine. Like always.

Things were so much easier down in Hell. At least he should have something to whack tonight; the nights surrounding the full moon always draw out enough devils to keep him occupied and gore-stained. With luck, he’ll have a few days reprieve from the gnawing want inside of him.

He leans back in his chair, an uneasiness niggling at him. Will Bambi be okay out there tonight? Will she even think to stay in during a full moon? Is that something normal people think about?

God, he can’t stop worrying about her for more than a minute, can he? It’s getting worse the longer they’re apart, he’s sure of it. As if the events of this morning weren’t evidence enough.

There’s a twinge of interest low in his belly at the memory, but he ignores it.

When she never called him after their little encounter with the demon lord Kimaris, Dante figured the best thing he could do for her (and himself) would be to free them from the blood magic he’d stupidly tied them up in, with as little fuss and theatrics as possible. So, that’s what he’ll do.

Secretly.

Trish comes over after sundown, bearing their customary pre-full-moon-hunting pizza, and if she notices anything amiss with Dante, she has the decency not to say anything about it.

They eat together, then gear up to head out, and all’s well until they get onto the street outside.

It hits him like a truck carrying a ton of bricks: somewhere, not too far in the distance, is Bambi.

He can sense her, her perfume on the breeze, his pulse tuning in to her own. It’s her, he’d know her anywhere, and what’s more is there’s something with her that shouldn’t be. A devil?

He has to get to her. She could be in danger. If anything were to happen…

He manages a garbled apology to Trish, then takes off at a full sprint down the street, leaving her perplexed in the dust.

Later, he’ll explain everything to her. Or not.

His feet thump into the tarmac as he races to his quarry. He’s got to get to her. Got to find her. Quick, before she gets hurt. Before that troubling presence alongside hers has the chance to hurt her.

He’ll tear the heart out of anything that dares to so much as touch a hair on her head. He’ll use his teeth and his claws if he has to. No one touches her. No one but him.

What is he thinking? He needs to calm down. Keep a cool head. Why is it so hard to think when it comes to her? It’s like wading through a thick fog. What has this foul magic done to him?

The moon is bright and full above him, a shining silver penny swimming in a sea of blackest ink, and it watches over him as he bolts along roads, dodging cars and the swarms of people not willing to let a little thing like a devil feeding frenzy ruin their Friday night.

Normally he would be here to protect all of them, but tonight they’re someone else’s problem; there’s only one person he cares about.

Getting closer!

The air is thick and sweet with her now, like she’s a damn bitch in heat, and he slows to a halt in the middle of a crowded street, trying to un-muddle his senses and figure out where to go next. He’s getting some weird looks, and the pedestrians give him a wide berth, but he doesn’t care.

Where is she? Where’s his bond-mate?

Ugh. Bond-mate? He’s been reading about way too many demonic mating rituals.

He shakes free of the blood-red haze clouding his thoughts, lucid for now, and starts walking. Bambi’s around here somewhere, but he’ll not find her by losing his mind. Doesn’t he have better control than this?

He peers into every dark alley he passes, half-expecting to find her accosted in the shadows by some malicious entity, but there’s no sign of her.

At the end of the street, he rounds the corner, and his breath catches in his throat.

There she is.

Over the road is a trendy bar that Dante wouldn’t be caught dead in, with a bunch of tables and chairs outside for those braving the heat of the summer night air. At a little table for two, sits Bambi, twirling a glinting metal straw in her brightly coloured drink.

He takes a moment just to look at her, the sight of her mesmerising. She’s beautiful, full of life and vibrant with mirth, her cheeks pink from liquor and her smile easy. A calmness he hasn't felt in weeks settles over him, just for a moment, before his hackles rise again.

She’s not alone.

Across from her is a man, his shoulders rising and falling as he laughs at something she’s said. Dante can only see him from behind, but he’s certain he’s looking at a devil masquerading.

His blood boils. Who the hell is this guy? What is he? What does he want with Bambi? Doesn’t he know Dante’s claimed her? He should just march over there, pick the bastard up by the scruff of his neck and—Trish appears at Dante’s side and hauls him over the kerb and back onto the sidewalk. He’d been halfway across the busy road without even noticing.

“What are you doing?” she says, holding him back with one hand while with the other she shoves her windswept hair out of her face. “Why are you staring at that couple? Are—are you growling?”

“What? No.” He comes back to himself again. He wasn’t growling, was he? “Can’t you tell? That guy’s a devil in disguise.”

She doesn’t seem to want to take her eyes off him for one moment, but humours him, following his pointing finger and squinting across the way. “Who, blue shirt guy? No, he isn’t.”

What? “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I’d definitely be able to tell.” She’s looking at him like he’s lost it.

He has lost it, hasn’t he? ‘It’ being his fucking mind. “All right, what do you think he is, then?”

“My best guess?” she says, mulling it over. “I’d say he’s an accountant.”

“An accountant.” They can’t be talking about the same man. Dante follows her eyeline to make sure.

Blue shirt, check.

Sitting with Bambi, check.

Bambi, who’s looking right at him and Trish, consternation written plain on her face. Shit. Not good.

Their eyes meet, over the shoulder of her _accountant_ companion, and he grits his teeth, fighting to stay still. He needs to be with her. Needs to get away from her. Can’t trust himself around her, not anymore.

He turns to Trish. “Find me something to hit,” he says, taking great effort to keep his voice steady. “And when we get back to the shop tonight, I need to talk to you.”

She eyes him for a moment. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Now, Trish, you’re not going to like this,” Dante says once they’re back at Devil May Cry. “I did something stupid.”

“Unsurprising.” Trish sits on the edge of his desk, her long, leather-clad legs swinging. “Go on.”

He paces back and forth the length of the shop, aching all over from the arduous hunt. He’s had long enough to think of what to say, but somehow come up with nothing. “You know the woman at the bar? The one with the _accountant.”_

“You mean the one that smelled like you? Yes. Why is that, I wonder?”

Damn it. She knows more than she’s letting on. There’s no use lying to her, but he’s sat on this for weeks. It’s not like there’s any way to say it that’ll make it sound better, so he should just _say it._

“I met her a few weeks ago.” It’s a start.

“Around the time that demon ripped the roof off this place?”

“Yeah, actually.”

“And?”

“And, well…” Say it. Say it. Say it. “I accidentally claimed her as my hellbride.”

Trish’s eyes widen like saucers. Her legs stop swinging. “What? You can’t have! You’d have to…” Her thin blonde eyebrows stitch into a frown. “You didn’t drink her blood, did you?”

He turns away from her and shrugs. “I don’t know if I’d call it _drinking_ exactly, but… why, is that important?”

“Dante! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, Trish!”

She jumps up from the desk, her hands on her hips. “And how do you accidentally drink someone’s blood?”

He’d been so consumed by lust, nothing left of him but the need to claim, to make her into his own. This isn’t the time to get caught up in memories, though. “It was a heat of the moment thing.”

She groans and rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you. What does she make of all this?”

He tries to keep a straight face, or at least force a neutral expression that doesn’t scream ‘actually, I never got around to telling her,’ but judging by the way Trish pinches the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb, he fails most miserably.

“This might be the stupidest thing you’ve done,” she says after a lengthy pause.

“What about that time when—”

“Not now, Dante.”

“Right.”

“I just don’t understand—there’s a whole ritual involved! How do you do that by accident?”

“There were extenuating circumstances, all right? But hey, if you’re so knowledgeable about it all, you can get me out of it!”

“Great! Let’s go back to that bar, find your little bride and cut her pretty head off. That’s how demon lords generally get rid of their spouses once they’re bored with them.”

Fuck. That can’t be it, can it? No, she’ll help. She has to help. He swallows his ire. “Please, Trish.”

It’s hard to face her when she’s glowering like this; it’s too much like being scolded by his mother, and it doesn’t help when her stormy expression clears and she looks at him with sympathetic eyes.

“All right,” she says, “I’ll help you.”

“You will?”

“I will. What do you have so far? You have been trying to break this curse, right?”

“I haven’t been sitting on my ass this whole time!” And to prove himself, he goes around the office, rooting out the various old demonic codices from where he’s thrown them over the last few weeks. He piles them up into a dusty stack on his desk, where they sit like an innocuous representation of all his failings. “For all the good it did me; these are worthless.”

“Hmm.” She picks up the top book, running her fingers over the stitched tree on the leather cover before opening it and skimming through the pages. “I don’t know, I’ve heard Flemeth’s Grimoire is quite comprehensive.”

“Are you questioning my reading ability?”

“Maybe, and it wouldn’t be the first time a curse made it difficult or impossible for those under its influence to break it, so I’ll go over these again just in case.”

All that time wasted. “I should have come to you in the first place.”

“Yes, you should.” She tucks a couple more books under her arms. “I’ll take these to start. Leave it to me, I’ll get you out of this mess.”

He could kiss her, if it wouldn’t be so weird. “Thanks, Trish.”

She makes for the door, turning back to him just before she leaves. “You’re not off the hook, Dante. Your job is to find that poor girl and tell her she’s blood-bound to a humongous idiot.”

He groans. Why does he always get the hard jobs?


	2. Chapter 2

It’s late. There’s nothing Dante can do tonight, is there? He should just go off to bed and find Bambi in the morning. It’s not procrastination, it’s preparation, and a good night’s sleep never hurt anyone.

He heads over to lock the shop up for the night, when he’s struck once more by Bambi’s undeniable presence. She’s here? It can’t be.

But sure enough, when he pushes the front doors open to the night, he’s engulfed by her aura, heady and intoxicating like his favourite bourbon.

Where is she? The street outside is empty, but he can feel her as if she’s standing right beside him.

He needs her. She’s the holy water to douse the hellfire howling in his veins. She—

No. He’s better than this, damn it.

He hauls the doors closed again, leaning against them and panting as if it took great physical effort.

Deep breaths. Calm down. He can master this.

Summoning all his remaining will, he takes two steps back from the doors, his hands squeezing into tight fists. His nails bite into his palms as he waits there, her spirit lapping at him like the rolling waves at some beleaguered seashore.

She’s coming closer.

There’s a prickle across his skin, the static snap that always preludes the morphing of his body into something more terrible and true.

The devil in him licks its lips, hungry for the feed, and he almost, _almost,_ gives in to it. It would be so much easier, such an astounding relief to just let go and allow his human skin to peel away, filling the room with his raw power.

But not like this. He gets away from the door. Counts the steps; one, two, three, all the way to ten. Focuses on his surroundings; the old books Trish left behind on the desk, the empty pizza box from before… what toppings did they have? Remember, remember! Anything to stay grounded in the moment, anchored to his own flesh.

Double pepperoni. Extra cheese. No olives.

And just like that, his mind clears and he’s in control. This is a battle long since won; he learned to cage the beast inside years ago. He can’t believe he almost slipped like that. Blood magic is nothing to sniff at, huh?

He’s found his sanity just in time, for the front doors creak open not a minute later.

“Hello?” It’s Bambi, tiptoeing into the shop and stopping short when she sees Dante standing in the middle of the room. “Oh!”

He just wants to fold her up in his arms and kiss her all over. Swallows it down. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She closes the doors behind her with a thud, unknowingly trapping herself in with him and his hunger. “I need to talk to you. I think.”

Talk? Will he be able to keep his cool long enough to have this conversation? He’ll try. “Yeah, I figured you might.”

“I saw you before, nearly getting yourself run over, and I just—I don’t know.” She trembles a little. “I don’t know why I’m here, but I just had to see you.”

 _I can explain everything,_ he means to say, but what comes out is: “I’m really glad you’re here.”

So much for keeping his cool.

Her cheeks flush. “You are?”

“Yeah. I missed you.” He needs to get his fucking act together and tell her what’s up, but his mouth has a mind of its own.

She takes a tentative step towards him. “I’m so sorry I never called, Dante,” she says, her voice all high and breathy. “I’ve just been trying to put that whole _thing_ with the demon behind me and pretend it never happened.”

“You don’t ever have to be sorry, baby.” He moves to approach her too, drawn in by the inexplicable pull she has on him.

There’s something he’s supposed to tell her, isn’t there? Something important. He just can’t seem to focus…

She sidles up to him, closing the distance between them. “Let me make it up to you,” she whispers, blinking up at him through her long lashes. God, her eyes are beautiful.

He swallows. How is he supposed to say no to her? Dumbly, he puts his hand in hers and lets her lead him over to the couch. Her hand is tiny and delicate in his own, like he’d break her fingers if he squeezed too hard, and at hits him, not for the first time, how defenceless she would be out there in the dark where the wild things lurk.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll be there to protect her. Always.

She pushes him down onto the worn leather of the couch, and knocks his booted ankle with her foot to get him to spread his legs wider. Does she know the power she holds over him right now? Is that why the corner of her mouth tilts up just so?

She drops to her knees on the grimy floor, her face alight with excitement and trepidation. “I’ve never done this before, but I want to,” she whispers like she’s sharing a secret, the confession coming out of her in a rush of breath. “Is that okay?”

He reaches out for her, his fingers curling around her face and his thumb stroking her cheek. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

Her hands dive for his belt, and with clumsy fingers, she unclasps the buckle. A shudder ripples through him as he settles into his seat, his heartbeat picking up speed as she drags his pants zipper down, tooth by tooth. If this is just another super vivid dream, he might actually cry.

No, she’s here and she’s real. Her hand is real as it pulls his rock-solid cock out of his boxers. Her fingers are warm as they wrap around him, guiding him towards her mouth.

She hesitates, the tip of his cock inches from her pretty, painted lips, and the both of them hold their breath. His cock twitches spastically in her palm, and she lets out a surprised chuckle, meeting his eyes with raised eyebrows.

The tension loosened for just a moment, she leans in, closing her eyes at the last second and then her wet little tongue licks a long line up the length of his cock. She laves over the tip when she reaches it, making him moan, and then her lips close into a kiss, a playful peck before she pulls away, her eyes full of mischief.

“This isn’t so bad,” she says, her breath ghosting over him.

“You thought it would be?” His voice strains as he fights to keep it even. She wants to talk right now? He’s impressed he managed to string two words together.

She shrugs, and the next thing he knows, her lips are wrapped around the head of his cock and she’s sucking on him like he’s a hard piece of candy.

“Oh, fuck.” His mouth hangs open as he watches her take him further in, her sweet, soft mouth stretching obscenely around his cock.

She murmurs something in the back of her throat, and then, after a few sloppy back-and-forths, she slides into a smooth rhythm. Sucks him down. Pulls back. Over and over. Faster, and sometimes slower, to keep him guessing.

Her hand moves in tandem with her mouth, a little out of sync at first, until she gets a feel for it, but then she has the flow _down_ and it’s so good and he just can’t hold on much longer—

“I’m gonna come soon.” It’s more of a whine than a warning, and when she opens her eyes and looks up at him, he’s done for.

A string of meaningless expletives spill from his lips as he fills her mouth with come, and he imagines it, thick and white, painting the inside of her throat. She pulls away, face mischievous, and then she looks him dead in the eye and swallows.

He groans, already feeling the stirrings of renewed interest, and sags against the couch, his head thrown back and gaze skyward. That was fucking phenomenal when it had no right to be. Didn’t she say she’d never done it before?

“Was that okay?” she says, getting to her feet only to then squeeze herself onto the couch beside him. “I just sort of winged it, to be honest.”

He gives her the side-eye as he catches his breath, finding her expression beyond smug. “If you can’t tell how good that was, then there’s no hope for you.”

She grins, and all he wants to do is lie her down and fuck her silly, but as he comes down from his climax, his mind clears. He needs to tell her now, while he’s lucid, before this goes any further.

He tucks himself away (he does not want to be exposed if this conversation goes south), and tries to keep his voice steady. “Bambi, we need to talk.”

Her smile dims. “What about?”

“It’s about why I was following you tonight. And why you’re here.”

“Okay, already freaking out. What is it?” She leans away from him, just a little, and it hurts him like nothing else.

“A month ago, when we were uh _together,_ we accidentally enacted an ancient blood magic ritual and now we’re bound together by a freaky demon sex curse.”

She doesn’t move for the longest time. Waiting for him to laugh, probably. When he doesn’t, she moves all at once; jumping to her feet as her eyebrows fly way up. “What?”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that—okay, it is just as bad as it sounds, but don’t worry! I’m fixing it!”

“Oh, okay, that’s fine then,” she says, deadpan, while her eyes are wild with panic. “Fixing it? How?”

“My friend Trish is an expert on weird stuff like this, kind of, and she’s looking for a way to get us out of it right now.” He gets up and moves toward her, but she shies away from him. Fuck.

“I need a drink.” She hoists herself up to sit on the edge of the pool table, the look on her face making it clear that she doesn’t care if he objects. “And you need to tell me everything you know.”

“…and that’s everything I know, I swear,” Dante finishes, necking the rest of his bourbon. “Here, give me your glass, I’ll get you another.”

“Thanks.” She follows suit, falling silent again as he busies himself with the bottle and glasses.

He comes back to her and leans his hip against the pool table, handing her a fresh drink. “We’re out of ice, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She gulps down half of the glass in one and presses it to her heated cheek. “This is all my fault.”

“What? No, don’t be stupid. We both had ice.”

She rolls her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t roll right out of her skull. “Shut up. You know that’s not what I mean.”

He nods, holding his tongue for once in his life.

“If I’d told you I was a virgin when we met, this would never have happened.”

Well, she’s not wrong. Maybe. “You don’t know that. You’re assuming I would have used my upstairs brain, and you know what they say about assuming.”

She allows a snicker at that. “Everything’s falling into place now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you this whole time.” Her eyes are cast downward, into her glass. “I thought I was—but it was all, what? A spell? God, I feel so stupid.”

She thought of him too? Was she hyper-aware of his very existence like he hers? It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself, none of it was real.

She groans, finishing the rest of her drink and slamming the empty glass down beside her. “And what must you think of me? I showed up here tonight and—and—I don’t normally do things like this, I swear.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He lays a hand on her knee to steady her, relieved at her receptiveness. “Stop right there. If you want to be angry at someone, it should be me. I shouldn’t have let things get this far.”

A thoughtful look crosses her face. “You have a point,” she says. “If you knew I was under this spell, why did you let me suck you off?”

He recoils from her. “What?”

She hops down from the table and crosses her arms. “You heard.”

No one riles him up quite like she does, maddeningly or otherwise. “You think I’m in my right mind? You think I wanted to get hit by that car earlier? Everything just clouds over and then there’s nothing left but… you.”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It’s really that bad?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to keep stalking me, are you?”

“I’m not—I wasn’t _stalking_ you!” He drags a hand through his hair. “I thought you were in trouble!”

She cocks her head. “Why?”

“Full moons are a dangerous time to be out! And you were with someone I didn’t know—”

“Like that’s any of your business?”

“No, but—”

“I can see anyone I want, you don’t own me!”

“Right you are, princess, but—”

She continues her tirade, and it’s clear to him that she’s not in a mood to be reasoned with.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “How about we just don’t see each other until Trish gets back to me about how to fix this?”

She shrugs. “That’s fine by me.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a beat where neither of them moves, and then all at once she’s crashing into him like a wave at sea. Her legs around his waist, her fingers in his hair, and her mouth hot and wanting against his own.

He groans. He’s craved her like nothing else, and now she’s here in his arms. She’s perfect.

“I’m getting some mixed signals here,” he says, muffled by her scalding kisses.

“Take me upstairs and fuck me as hard as you can.”

Fuck. It’s like she’s turned the burner up to max, heating his blood to a rolling boil. He sucks a kiss into her jawline, and readjusts her weight, balancing her on his hip. “Don’t you worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Would it be so bad to indulge in each other? Should they really make themselves suffer just because they’re under the influence of something beyond their control? He can’t bear the thought of her alone and frustrated, not when he could do something to ease her struggle.

She clings to him, squeezing her thighs around him as he staggers up the stairs, blind with lust. She feels so good against him, even through the layers of their clothes, and it’s just unreasonable to expect him to be able to wait until they’re all the way along the hall to his bedroom.

When they get up to the landing, he pins her to the wall with his hips, his hardening cock slotting against the covered heat between her legs.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants into his ear. “I want you. Please, Dante.”

When she says it like that, he can almost believe she means it.

He kisses her hard, tugging uselessly at her clothes, but with her back against the wall and her legs around his waist, he doesn’t make much progress. They need to relocate.

“Take me to bed,” she whispers in between kisses, holding his face in her hands.

“As you wish, princess.” He’s going to hell for this, isn’t he?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to leave that last scene as a fade to black, i swear. turns out i am incapable of doing that, so... here we are.

Dante sets her on her feet beside his bed, and gets to tearing at her clothes. First goes her strappy little tank top, and then he pushes her down onto the bed to attack her jeans, a skin tight pair that would drive him wild even if he wasn’t cursed to be so.

She kicks off her sandals to help him, and wriggles out of her bra and panties, until at last she’s totally bared to his hungry eyes. The flare of her hips has him hypnotised, and the swell of her breasts. She’s so soft and eager for him. He wants to watch how her body changes for him, how she’ll grow lush, blooming along with the seed he’ll plant inside of her.

“What’s wrong?” she says, snapping him out of his daunting, ineffable fantasy.

“Not a damn thing.” He strips out of his coat and shirt like he’s a quick-change artist, shoving his pants and boxers down with equal haste, his cock so hard it springs up and slaps against his stomach. His blood is liquid lust, and it makes him clumsy, almost tripping over his boots as he kicks them off and across the room.

“Then hurry up. I feel like I’ll die if you don’t fuck me.”

He groans. Has a luckier man than he ever existed? He clambers onto the bed beside her, and she claws at him as soon as he’s within reach, pressing her soft curves into his hard body and kissing the taste of him back into his own mouth.

He leaves her spit-slicked lips to suck a purple mark into her neck, wishing his teeth were sharp enough to get to the blood beneath her skin without making a gory mess of her. She makes him into something untameable. He’s becoming the beast.

He shoves two fingers into her mouth, where she sucks them just like she did his cock. When they’re good and wet, he pulls them out and descends her body, running the tip of his tongue in a tickling line down past her collarbone. She jumps when he licks her nipple, her legs parting and giving him access to squeeze his fingers inside the dripping heat of her pussy.

“Yes!” She moans as he fucks her on his fingers. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”

He grins, watching her face tighten with pleasure. _You,_ she said, not _this._ She missed _him._ “I missed you too, baby girl.” He’s not above admitting it, not when she already knows exactly how he feels.

Her cunt is tight silk around his fingers, and she whines when he sucks hard on her nipple. Her head lolls to the side so she can look at him, her eyes dark and piercing. “There hasn’t been anyone else. For me. Have you… have you fucked anyone else?”

As if he could even think of it without his stomach turning. “No. I only feel this way when I’m with you.”

He flickers his tongue over and around her nipple, using his thumb to provide similar attention to her clit, and he has to take care to not get bucked off altogether when she spasms, her whole body tightening so much that it forces his fingers out of her.

She tugs on his hair until he comes back up for a kiss, and he goes willingly, turning her to face him with his sticky hand on her hip. Her limbs tangle around him, and she kisses him frantically, like she’ll cease to exist if she stops even to breathe.

His cock is flat against his belly, trapped between them, and his balls ache like he’s been edging for weeks. He pulls away from her mouth and breathes hard in her ear. “I’ve got to fuck you now.”

“Please,” she whispers.

He untangles from her and rolls her onto her front, where she gets her elbows and knees under her, her round ass offered up to him to grab and squeeze and slap.

But first, he goes for her hips and yanks her to the edge of the bed, where he stands, his feet sticking to the old wooden floor.

One of her knees comes off the side of the mattress in her hurry to back her ass up, and she wobbles before finding purchase again, hiding her face in the sheets even as she wiggles her butt to tempt him.

He wants to sink his teeth into her plump, peachy flesh and leave a mark behind. Grits his teeth against it. He knows his place in the world when he’s with her; and it’s to protect her from all harm, even that which he might do to her.

“What are you waiting for?” She turns her head to catch him out of the corner of her eye.

Has she always been this impatient? He grabs a handful of her ass with one hand, and uses his other to line his cock up with her slick heat.

He sinks into the snugness of her pussy, moaning at how fucking perfect she feels, and she all but melts into the bed, spreading her legs wider and going all pliant for him.

“Is this what you need?” He pulls her the rest of the way onto his cock, one hand still palming her ass, the other in a vice grip on her hip. “What you can’t live another second without?”

“Guh.” She smushes her face into the mattress, but she bounces her ass on him despite her sudden embarrassment. Figures she’d settle down once he’d got his cock in her. He’s never met anyone who treads the line between cute and hot so well.

He holds her by her little waist, and rolls his hips into rhythm, able to reach so deep inside her with the added leverage of having his feet planted on solid ground. He fucks her like that, with long, deep strokes, guiding her movements with his hands for as long as he can take it. Until it’s not enough, and he has to go faster.

She moans at the change of pace, so he gives it to her more, getting lost in the molten pleasure she ignites in him. He’s so screwed; she’s ruined him for anyone else. No one will ever compare to her.

He thumps into her, harder than he means to. Harder, maybe, than a normal man could do without concerted effort. “Fuck.” He slows, gentler. “I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay?”

“Muh.” She’s really lost all her spunk from earlier.

“You gotta tell me.” He leans over her back, his breath ghosting across her neck as he speaks. “Tell me if you still want me, if you need a break, if you want to stop, anything. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” And he fucking will; even in this drug-like haze, he’ll deny himself if it’s for her. He’ll starve so that she can eat, or else offer up his own bones for her to suck the marrow from within.

She props herself up on her forearms, lifting her head just enough for him to hear her clearly. “I want it, please. Anything you want to do to me.”

His hands tremble at her words. She can’t know what she’s saying. She can’t know what he wants, hidden deep in a part of his soul that’s never seen the light of day. He pulls one of her hands away from her face and clutches it in his own, sweat making the grip slippery. He holds on tight, keeping them both anchored until this whirling storm subsides.

He resumes his rutting, more restrained than before, but how long before he forgets himself again? She’s so warm, and wet, and when he fucks into her, she makes the sweetest, softest sounds.

The pleasure rises in him, burning hot, as he sheathes himself inside of her body, over and over again. She thrusts her hips back against him, meeting him in each pump of his own, and it fans the flames of his desire into something fierce and unquenchable. He wants to consume her, and be consumed by her, and never be away from her cunt long enough for her to forget how he feels inside of it.

He releases her hip to palm one of her bouncing tits, weighing and kneading the flesh, his thumb brushing over her nipple. “I fucking love your tits,” he says, practically growling, and her cunt cinches in so tight. Does she get off on his desire for her? Maybe he can test it.

He urges her forwards so he can climb onto the bed behind her on his knees, pressing his chest to her back and laying kisses to the side of her neck. “You feel so good, baby.”

She keens, her body tensing as her pussy quivers around him. “Oh, Dante.”

He sinks to the mattress on his side, pulling her down with him, cradling her head with one hand while he clasps her hip with the other. He pulls her onto his cock, fucking her harder through her fluttering orgasm, and nuzzles into the sweet scent of her hair.

She’s weak against him, just bouncing along with the strength of his thrusts, and all of his senses are overwhelmed with her. Without thinking, he noses along the nape of her neck, finding the _thump-thump_ of her pulse with his lips and then he clamps his mouth over her jugular, sucking hard.

She moans, the sound ending in a halting gasp when he lets go of himself altogether and sinks his teeth into her supple flesh.

He doesn’t draw blood, not quite, but it doesn’t matter. His hips stutter, pressed tight against her ass, and he empties his load deep into her waiting womb. He groans, shuddering, before going slack, his jaw relaxing and releasing her throat.

Her chest heaves, and she reaches for him, the angle making it awkward. He wraps her up in his arms, spooning his body around hers, and peppers kisses across her sweaty hair and the back of her neck.

She yawns, and he can’t help but follow suit. Man, it’s late.

“I’ll go get you something to clean up,” he mumbles into her hair.

She clutches the arm he has around her waist. “Please don’t go.”

“If I don’t move soon, we’ll be stuck together.” He kisses her shoulder, and then begins the delicate process of unlodging himself from her.

“Hey, Dante?” she says, looking at him, dazed, as he gets up.

“Yeah, Bambi?”

She smiles at the nickname like she always does. “Was the bed always on this side of the room?”

“Huh?” It takes him a moment, but then he notices what she’s talking about, and he roars with laughter. “Don’t move, sweetheart. I’ve got this.”

The bed, previously in the middle of the room, is now all the way up against the back wall. He fucked her clear across the room without even noticing.

He slides the bed back to its proper place, easy as pie, and he doesn’t miss the excitement in her eyes when he shows off his strength.

A few minutes later, when he’s finished washing up, he returns to his room bearing a clean washcloth for her and a bottle of water. She’s already asleep, all twisted up in the bedsheets and murmuring to herself.

“No, no, please,” she mumbles, tossing and turning. Is she having a nightmare?

He sets the bottle and cloth down and climbs into bed beside her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly.

Her eyes snap open, and dart around for a moment before she focusses on him. She lets out a deep breath. “Dante…”

“It’s all right now.” He rubs her arm, and she turns onto her back, looking up at him.

Her hand comes up, and she pushes his hair behind his ear, stroking his stubbly cheek. “You’re here.”

He almost wishes that devil bastard Kimaris was still kicking, so he could tear his head off all over again. There’s a gnawing ache in him to think of her hurting, and if he has anything to do with it, she’ll never worry for her safety again.

She cleans herself off and drinks some water, and then he returns to his role as her big spoon.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs into her ear, before kissing it. “I’ll be here. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Curse or no, he means it. His feelings for her are real… aren’t they?


End file.
